


Aji

by hestialuna



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Clueless Kishimoto, M/M, awkward teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hestialuna/pseuds/hestialuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Kishimoto-kun, right? Welcome to Class 1. I've been looking forward to playing you,” the older boy said, smiling disarmingly. Kishimoto knew better— this was the opponent he had long anticipated, ever since he became an insei.</p><p>“And you're Isumi Shinichirou… the top ranked insei,” Kishimoto replied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aji

**Author's Note:**

  * For [postmodern_robot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodern_robot/gifts).



With a smooth, practiced motion, Kishimoto Kaoru took off his glasses and briskly wiped the lenses with his shirt. The other insei in the practice room appeared as pale, indistinguishable shapes crouched hazily over orderly rows of gobans.

He slipped them back on and coolly assessed the room. It had only been a few days since he had finally risen to the ranks of Class 1. Most of the players in the room were still unknown to him. It was an unfamiliar and unsettling change for Kishimoto, who had played countless games against his Class 2 peers and had long since dissected each of their strengths and weaknesses.

His opponent arrived and took a seat across from him. Kishimoto met his eyes and they bowed their heads in greeting. They were the same height, even though Kishimoto was two years younger than him.

“Kishimoto-kun, right? Welcome to Class 1. I've been looking forward to playing you,” the older boy said, smiling disarmingly. Kishimoto knew better— this was the opponent he had long anticipated, ever since he became an insei.

“And you're Isumi Shinichirou… the top ranked insei,” Kishimoto replied.

Isumi looked embarrassed as he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, but don’t worry about that. Let’s play a good game today.”

“ _Onegai shimasu_ ,” Kishimoto said, bowing slightly and placing his hand in the goke for nigiri.

“ _Onegai shimasu_.”

Kishimoto began the game with a black stone on the upper right star. Isumi responded by playing the upper left star, as expected. Their hands mirrored each other until Kishimoto finally placed a stone on the top center, encroaching slightly into Isumi’s territory in the upper left. He leaned back to observe Isumi’s next move.

Isumi’s features were placid and composed, but his eyes veered back and forth, deftly tracking invisible patterns on the board. Kishimoto had long studied him from afar, but even up close, Isumi still appeared surprisingly… average. His short hair, partly neatly down the center, and nondescript denim jacket and jeans made him look like any other 15 year-old Japanese boy. He seemed like the nice, inoffensive type that didn’t make any sort of lasting impression on the mind. And yet, his go dominated the most skilled apprentice players in Japan, bringing him the closest to the elusive world of the pros.

Kishimoto, on the other hand, had always been praised for standing out. He was tall for his age, more mature than his peers, and one of the top students at Kaio Junior High. Since becoming an insei almost a year ago, he had been considered the unofficial leader of Class 2. What was it about the plain-looking boy before him that made him vastly different from Kishimoto?

Isumi responded with a kosumi on the upper right. A fight, so soon? Kishimoto looked up from the goban, but Isumi still wore the same calm expression. Perhaps not. Kishimoto played a cautious hand in response.

Isumi quietly attached to the upper right. It was an attack after all! Kishimoto quickly moved to protect his group. Isumi attached another, and then another. Then, as suddenly as it began, he left the battle and switched his attention to the lower right.

Kishimoto understood now; since it was their first game together, Isumi was testing him. Foolishly, he wasted hands when he should have been establishing his territory elsewhere.

Well, Kishimoto had been curious about his opponent too.

“Are you nervous about the pro exam this year?” he murmured. He knew that Isumi had already failed his first attempt, despite being one of the top insei last year as well.

His question briefly broke Isumi’s concentration. It wasn’t forbidden to speak during games, but it wasn’t common.

“Yeah, it’s hard not to be, even though the exam isn’t until this summer,” Isumi replied. His gaze drifted back to the goban and he played a kosumi on the lower right, gaining control of the area.

“Only three people can pass each year. Aren’t you worried?”

Kishimoto waited to see what anger looked like on Isumi, but it never materialized. Instead, Isumi shook his head as if he were holding back a smile. Was he laughing at him?

“The exam’s a long way off. Look, don’t stress out about that now. Just focus on playing your best,” Isumi said reassuringly.

He thought Kishimoto was worried! Embarrassed, he swiftly slammed down a black stone, attaching to Isumi’s.

The smile lingered on Isumi’s face as he played his next move.

* * *

 A bell rang amidst the clacking of stones against wood, signaling a brief break. A few students groaned with relief as they stumbled to their feet. Isumi stood up and stretched his arms before leaving the room. Kishimoto stared mutely at the board with his arms folded.

Each of Isumi’s hands were precise and powerful. Not a single move was wasted. He had the good patience not to hurry the game, even when Kishimoto tried to provoke him. Isumi didn’t play aggressively, nor did he hold back. His strength was quiet, relentless, and almost overwhelming.

The difference in their ability was clear, but the game was not quite over yet. Still, it was discouraging to finally see just how vast their gap truly was.

He went to the vending machine for a drink. A few students watched him curiously as he opened a can of black coffee and took a sip. He had been drinking straight coffee for a year now as he’d never been fond of sugary, childish drinks.

“‘Scuse me,” a brusque voice interrupted. A skinny boy with thick messy hair stood behind him, scowling. Kishimoto stepped away from the vending machine. The boy bought two bottles of sweet green tea and took a swig from one of them.

Waya Yoshitaka was one of the few Class 1 insei he had played so far. During their one game together, Kishimoto had played quickly and aggressively, pegging him as the volatile type that would crumble easily, but Waya had completely destroyed him and smirked all the way through yose. Kishimoto instinctively disliked him. Waya was too loud and too arrogant, the type that easily drew everyone’s attention. He knew the feeling must be mutual.

“How are you doing?” Waya asked.

Kishimoto frowned as he took off his glasses. “I still haven’t won a game yet, if that’s what you’re asking, but that will soon change,” he said, wiping his lenses with unnecessary force.

Waya laughed incredulously. “ _Okay_ , I was just asking how you were. You’re playing Isumi-san today though, right? Don’t get your hopes up.”

Kishimoto could easily imagine Waya’s smug grin if he ended up back in Class 2 next month. Waya had a reputation of being a friendly, well-liked insei, but Kishimoto just couldn’t see it.

“Oh, Isumi-san!” Waya beamed. “Here, I got one for you too.”

“Hey Waya. Thanks!” Isumi smiled as he caught the bottle of tea. The two of them gravitated towards the entrance of the practice room together and began chatting excitedly.

Everyone knew that they were inseparable, even though Isumi was three years older than Waya. Frankly, Kishimoto couldn’t understand how two people who were so different from each other could be such close friends. Well, it didn’t matter to him.

“Chief!” a pair of girls hurried up to him. “We miss you in Class 2! It’s not the same without you.”

Kishimoto felt his tension seep away upon hearing the familiar nickname. “Uchida-san, Matsumoto-san. I miss playing you both too.”

“You should play us again sometime, when you’re free. I guess shidougo, since you’re in Class 1 now!” they laughed.

“You both need to work hard and join me in Class 1 instead!” Kishimoto admonished. They chatted for awhile longer.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Isumi said, suddenly appearing next to him. Waya was nowhere to be seen. "I'd like to talk to Kishimoto-kun. Is that okay?"

The girls shrugged. “Sure, we wanted to grab some snacks before the break ends anyway. See you!”

Kishimoto stood stiffly. “Did you… want to discuss the game so far?” he asked.

“Oh no, that can wait. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

Kishimoto didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, Isumi continued.

“So… you seemed really concerned about the pro exam before. I remember when I first got out of Class 2. It’s pretty nerve-wracking to go from the top of one class to the bottom of the next one. Suddenly there’s all this pressure to keep moving up, because you feel like you can slip back so easily. A lot of people crack.”

Kishimoto knew all this. For all the insei who never seemed to go beyond Class 2, the ones who briefly made it into Class 1 only to crash down the ranks seemed more pitiable to him. He had vowed never to become one of them, one way or another.

“How did you make it?” Kishimoto asked slowly. This question had weighed on his mind ever since he first saw Isumi’s name at the top of the ranking chart, although he had never expected to ask it so openly. He thought he would discover the answer through careful observation and by playing many games with him.

“My go supports me,” Isumi answered simply. “And yours will too. Just keep playing your best and look straight ahead. If you start worrying about the people coming from behind you, that’s when you’ll slip.”

He knew Isumi was being sincere, but that couldn’t be all there was to it. Kishimoto had only managed to make it this far by constantly staying one step ahead of his opponents and studying their weaknesses.

And yet, Isumi was strong. There was no doubt about that. His silent, unshakable confidence radiated from him like an aura. Kishimoto was amazed that he could ever have thought that Isumi was forgettable.

While Kishimoto was lost in his thoughts, Isumi placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll be fine,” he said with a smile.

Kishimoto felt his face grow hot, but he tried to mask his confusion. “Thank you, Isumi-san.”

The bell rang again and they returned to their game together. It was Kishimoto’s turn. He took a deep breath and played the move that he had deliberated on before the break. It was an aggressive, risky hand, but Kishimoto was behind. He had to hope that Isumi would not be able to read far enough ahead.

Isumi responded instantly, but not to that desperate hand. Instead, he placed one of Kishimoto’s groups in atari, a move that completely decimated Kishimoto’s upper right territory. Leaving that group unguarded was a shockingly embarrassing oversight. Isumi slowly withdrew his fingers as if he were apologetic for catching it.

The gleaming white stone seemed to mock him. He thought he had followed the purpose behind each of Isumi’s careful hands, only to miss such an obvious trap laid for him.

He broke out in a sweat, causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

At this point, he would have to make a huge come-from-behind maneuver in order to catch up, but the advantage wouldn’t change. Kishimoto had made a careful study of his own limits too. Such a move… was beyond him. Only children think they can fight an impossible battle and still win.

“I have nothing,” he said bitterly, lowering his head.

“Thank you,” Isumi replied. “Would you like to discuss the game?”

“No, I know where I played poorly,” Kishimoto stammered. The goban exposed his shame so vividly that he couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. He quickly began to sort the stones into the goke.

Isumi helped him. When they finished, Isumi got up and headed towards Waya’s goban. Kishimoto returned to the vending machine and angrily punched a button. A small can of black coffee rattled down. It was too hot and had a sour metallic taste. Kishimoto finished it in two gulps.

Another game to add to his chain of losses in Class 1. He knew that Isumi would win, but he had wanted to impress him and prove that he was a worthwhile rival. Well, he definitely made an impression.

“ _My go supports me,_ ” Kishimoto muttered to himself. Those kind words seemed painful now. His go did not support him the way Isumi’s go supported Isumi. What if it never became strong enough to support him?

Even as he tried to reassure himself that he could practice more, study harder, and become better, Kishimoto realized with a cold, hard certainty that he would never reach Isumi’s level. He could chase after him for years and still never stand beside him, one step away from the pros together.

Waya’s game finished with a round of applause from several onlookers. Waya had that insufferable grin that meant he had won. Isumi gave him a high five and they broke off to discuss the game together.

Kishimoto stood up and began walking to the entrance. As he drew closer, Waya noticed him and gestured subtly while whispering to Isumi. He knew he must be asking Isumi about their game.

Despite his embarrassment, Kishimoto had to see Isumi’s response. He lingered in the entrance, slowly toeing off his slippers while watching them from the corner of his eye.

Isumi shrugged slightly and shook his head.

“Nothing special, huh?” Waya said. “That’s too bad.”

Somehow, Kishimoto ended up in front of the elevator. He stared at it blankly before realizing he hadn’t pressed the button yet.

“Hey, Kishimoto!” Waya’s voice rang loudly through the empty hallway. He and Isumi were putting on their shoes.

Kishimoto cringed.

“We’re going out for lunch. Want to join us? It’ll be our treat, like a welcome present,” Waya said while coming over and hitting the elevator button.

“No, that’s alright,” he replied dully.

“You sure?” Isumi asked. Something in his voice made Kishimoto look at him carefully. He seemed genuinely disappointed. Kishimoto trusted his impression, but he couldn’t fathom why Isumi would respond that way.

“Maybe next time,” he found himself saying.

“Good. I’m counting on it,” Isumi said resolutely. There it was again. Kishimoto knew there was something more to Isumi after all, but he couldn’t quite read it.

Waya was going on about lunch options when the elevator arrived and they went inside. As soon as it stopped, Waya rushed out and Kishimoto looked glumly at the floor, waiting for Isumi to go first. Instead, Isumi reached over and ruffled Kishimoto’s neatly combed hair, causing it to fall messily over his eyes and knocking his glasses askew.

Kishimoto stared at him aghast. Isumi’s face had turned pink for some reason. He waited for Isumi to say something, to explain himself, because now he was _completely_ lost.

Isumi gently adjusted his glasses for him and smiled. “I’m looking forward to our next game.”

In the distance, Waya shouted at him to hurry up. He left without saying anything further.

Kishimoto was still standing inside with his cheeks burning as the elevator doors slowly shut.

**Author's Note:**

> [Aji (Go term)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Go_terms#Aji)  
>  The closest translation is 'latent potential.' From the Japanese, aji (味), meaning taste, it refers to the lingering ability of dead stones to open possible avenues of subtle play.
> 
> Thanks so much (as always!!!) to [caminante](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caminante/pseuds/caminante) for her incredible and meticulous betaing! You can thank her for the bonus blushing Isumi and more obvious slashiness.
> 
> Key Kishimoto chapters for reference:
> 
> Chapter 28: Vision of God  
> Chapter 40: Commencement  
> Chapter 45: Black Coffee


End file.
